The apartment smelled like soap and cheap wine. Heather rinsed the last plate, stacking it neatly on the rack. Her reflection in the kitchen window looked tired, but she forced a small smirk anyway.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. She wiped her hands on a towel before answering.
"Still alive?" Chloe's voice teased on the other end.
"Barely," Heather said, setting the last plate aside. "Just cleaning up."
"Well, hurry up. You have to come tonight," Chloe said, voice bright with excitement.
Heather sighed. "Chloe—"
"You can't miss it, babe! They're gonna come."
"Who?" Heather asked, half-distracted as she arranged the plates.
"Elias and Nicholas!" Chloe practically squealed.
Heather rolled her eyes. "I don't know what you see in them, but ew."
"'Ew'? Girl, if perfection walked into a room, it'd look like them," Chloe insisted.
Heather laughed softly. "Then I guess I'm blind."
"Whatever. You're coming, right?"
"I'll come after this," Heather said, placing the towel down.
"Good. Don't make me drag you—"
"Still awake?"
Paul's voice cut through from behind her.
Heather froze. The phone slipped slightly in her grip.
"I'll call you later," she said quickly, ending the call and setting the phone face down on the counter.
She turned, keeping her face blank. "Finishing up."
She didn't know why she even bothered when her mom and her boyfriend would let the house look like a hoarder's house whenever she wasn't around.
He leaned against the counter, beer in hand, eyes lingering too long. "You've changed a lot, you know that? You're not a kid anymore."
Heather raised an eyebrow. "Congrats. You have eyes."
Paul chuckled, taking a sip. "Yes, I do." He muttered looking up and down at her, leerily. "Your mom's lucky to have such a pretty daughter helping out."
She didn't answer.
He moved closer, setting his hand on her shoulder. "I'm just saying—"
Her hair on her neck stood up in disgust. "Fuck off." Her voice was quiet but sharp.
He smirked. "Relax. You're too tense."
Before she could reply, her mother appeared in the doorway.
Rachel Martin, who still carries her father's last name even after divorce. She hated her and she hated her boyfriend. But she hated her father more.
"What's going on here?"
Paul straightened immediately, acting harmless. "Nothing, babe. Just talking."
Her mother's gaze flicked between them, jaw tight before forcing a smile.
"Go to our room babe. I have something for you." She murmured to Paul as she touched his chest.
Paul gave Heather one last look before walking off.
When he was gone, her mother stepped closer. "You think I don't see what you're doing?"
Heather frowned. "Excuse me?"
"You are such a slut."
Heather crossed her arms. "Maybe if you weren't drunk all the time, you'd realize your boyfriend's a creep."
Her mother's hand flew out. The slap cracked through the room.
Heather's head turned from the force, but she didn't cry. Not in front of her. She just laughed bitterly. "There it is. The usual solution."
"Don't you dare mock me," her mother snapped. "You are just like your father."
Heather looked straight at her. "And thank God for that."
Her mother's face darkened, but Heather didn't wait for more. She grabbed her phone and bag.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Out," Heather said, voice steady.
"Fine. Go then. Let's see how far you get acting like that."
Heather did not answer. She was already at the door.
She hated this life.
Outside, the hallway smelled faintly of cigarettes and rain. She pulled her coat tighter and walked faster. She had already decided earlier she would not stay home tonight.
Vacation or not, she refused to spend another evening trapped in that apartment with Paul nearby.
It's better to spend the night at the party being hosted by one of their classmates from HEC. The kind of rich get-together where everyone dressed up, drank too much, and pretended to be adults. She had not planned to go, but now it felt like the only place left where she could breathe.
The taxi ride out of the city was quiet. Heather sat with her arms crossed, watching the lights fade as the buildings grew larger and cleaner.
When the car stopped in front of a gated house, the sound of music drifted through the air. She paid the driver and stepped out. The lawn smelled of wet grass, the driveway lined with cars that probably cost more than her apartment.
The house glowed. Lights poured from the open windows. Laughter echoed from the terrace.
Heather checked her reflection in her phone screen, fixed her lipstick, and straightened her posture. Then she walked in.
Heads turned. They always did.
A few voices called her name. "Heather, you made it."
"The queen is here."
She smiled, calm and polished. "Wouldn't miss it," she said, accepting a glass someone offered.
Inside, the living room was filled with people. Music thumped low through the speakers, and the air smelled of perfume, smoke, and champagne. Girls in silk dresses laughed too loudly. Boys in designer jackets shouted over each other.
Heather moved through them with quiet ease. Her smile stayed steady, her steps light. She looked like she belonged there.
No one would guess she had left home because of a fight.
She was here for one reason only. To forget.
And if she played her part well enough, no one would ever know the difference.
"Heather!"
She turned toward the familiar voice. Chloe was waving from near the bar, her red pixie hair shining under the gold lights. She was impossible to miss in a short, silver dress that looked like it had been stolen from a pop star.
Heather smiled and walked over, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "You look like trouble."
"I'm always trouble," Chloe said with a grin, handing her a glass. "And you look like you walked out of an ad. Again."
"Someone has to balance you out."
They clinked glasses.
Chloe leaned against the counter, watching the crowd. "So, are you ready for the last year?"
Heather took a sip of her drink. "Ready to survive it."
Chloe laughed. "Come on, it's the finish line. One more year of professors pretending to be gods and group projects from hell. Then freedom."
"Exactly," Heather said. "One more year, and I'm out."
"Out where?"
"Anywhere that's not here. Maybe travel. Maybe find something that actually feels like mine."
Chloe tilted her head. "You mean, disappear?"
"Maybe just breathe for once."
Chloe smiled faintly. "Still the same dreamer under all that attitude."
Heather shrugged. "Dreaming is free. Might as well use it."
Chloe nudged her shoulder. "You'll do it. You always do what you say."
"I try."
"Not try. You will. You're too stubborn not to."
Heather smiled a little. "You're getting sentimental. Is that the champagne or age?"
"Both," Chloe said, laughing. "This time next year, we'll be graduates. You'll be somewhere sunny, and I'll be rich and fabulous."
Heather raised her glass. "To that."
They toasted, the glasses clinking again, light catching on the rims.
For a moment, it felt easy. Just two girls, old friends, talking like the world outside didn't exist.
Chloe took another sip of her drink, eyes sparkling. "Or maybe I'll skip the hard work and marry rich instead."
Heather smiled faintly. "That sounds like you."
"Hey, it's a real plan," Chloe said. "If I end up as the wife of a very wealthy man, I'll make sure to send you postcards from my yacht."
Heather laughed softly. "Just make sure it's not covered in gold. I have standards."
Chloe grinned, but her smile froze halfway. "Speaking of rich husbands," she whispered, eyes flicking toward the door. "They're here."
Heather followed her gaze.
Elias Navarro and Nicholas Saint-Claire had just walked in.
Elias led, tall and broad, curls falling over his forehead, skin warm under the golden light. His shirt was open just enough, his sleeves rolled high, a small stud gleaming in one ear.
Nicholas was beside him, lighter-skinned, quiet, the type of man who didn't talk much but still owned every second of the room.
She had seen them once or twice before at university events but never this close.
People greeted them right away, voices eager. Elias smiled, easy and polite, answering whoever spoke to him.
A girl in a red dress slipped up beside Elias. She laughed softly, placed her hand on his chest, and started talking fast, like she was afraid to lose his attention.
The girl laughed again, sliding her hand along his shoulder. Heather turned to Chloe. "And they say I'm the slut."
Chloe snorted into her drink. "You're just jealous."
"I'm just nauseated."
"Same thing," Chloe said, grinning.
Heather rolled her eyes, but when she looked back, Elias's gaze was already on her.
He leaned closer, almost absently, and pressed his mouth to the girl's neck.
The movement was slow, unhurried. His lips brushed the base of the girl's throat, tongue tracing lightly over her skin before he smiled against it.
But…
His eyes never left Heather.
It was too direct to be coincidence, too steady to be casual.
The girl laughed softly, her hand curling at the back of his neck, unaware she wasn't the one holding his attention.
Heather's breath caught. The room seemed to fade, the noise turning distant, everything moving slower than it should.
For a heartbeat, it felt like he had reached across the space between them and touched her instead.
She blinked, forcing herself to look away, her pulse unsteady.
"Are you seeing this?" Chloe whispered.
Heather didn't move her head. "Unfortunately."
Chloe looked between them, eyes wide. "He's staring right at you."
Heather gave a small, cold laugh. "He probably stares at everyone."
But her throat felt dry.
When she finally looked away, her reflection in the glass of wine shimmered slightly, her own eyes giving away what she would never say out loud.